The Stiff and the Dead by Lori Avocato

me” kinds of things.
    But stubborn Pole that I am, I said, “I’m doing fine on my own.”
    He looked me up and down. I felt Mrs. Honeysuckle’s support nylons constrict around my ankles where earlier they had bagged. Then I felt the blood shoot up my veins back to my heart where it caused my chest to burn. Damn. This man was a public nuisance. A health nuisance. No one should be allowed to follow someone around and pop up in her car to scare her—and then ask a favor.
    Or, more truthfully, point out the obvious.
    â€œStop staring at me like that, Jagger. I have started this new case . . . and . . . and I’m almost done.” I had to fight the urge to stick out my tongue, because I knew it wouldn’t convince him anymore than the lie I’d just told.
    â€œSo, you have Sophie Banko caught red-handed in prescription fraud? Good. Fabio will no doubt give you a bonus for such fast work. And here you only had to dress up in Mrs. Honeysuckle’s clothing a few times. Great. Perfect, Sherlock. Atta girl.”
    My mouth dropped open, despite the flecks of super-glue, which should have at least held it semi-closed.
    Sophie Banko?
    Prescription fraud?
    And Mrs. Honeysuckle!
    With the tip of my finger, I pushed my jaw up and said in a voice that reminded me either of my childhood or a Chatty Cathy doll, “Okay.”

    I stood in the boiling-hot shower to peel off the remainder of superglue only minutes after driving Jagger back to his car and rushing home. I made a mental note to tell Goldie that we needed more Vaseline or this stuff was going to take the outer layer of my skin off.
    I shoved my face toward the showerhead and shut my eyes.
    Jagger!
    My eyes opened, water forced soap in, and I yelped.
    But not at the soap. How could Jagger know all that he did? How could he keep up with my life and do any work of his own? And why did he keep up with my life?
    We didn’t keep in touch, since, well, it wasn’t as if we were best of friends—more like temporary coworkers.
    But now, how could I get out of working with him, when I knew damn well—as he knew I knew—that I needed him more than he needed me?
    With the soap washed out of my eyes, I shut the water off, grabbed my towel, yanked off my shower cap and stepped out. Miles was at work, and Spanky fast asleep on the floor next to the counter. I dried as fast as I could, wiggled into my powder blue panties and pulled my jeans on over them. After I had my bra and navy sweater on, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and looked in the mirror. Felt good to be dressed in clothes more appropriate for my age.
    My skin glistened. I needed blush and lipstick, but was too frustrated and in a hurry to care.
    I grabbed my purse, keys and jacket, and after a quick goodbye to sleeping Spanky, I hurried out to my Volvo.
    When I opened the door and got inside, I froze.
    His scent clung to my leather seats.

    I’d have to get one of those horrible peppermint air freshener cardboard tree thingies that you hang on your rearview mirror to get the scent out.
    But did I really want to?
    Sure I was angry with Jagger over butting into my case, but that scent could work wonders—just like my mother’s Renuzit did. As I pulled into the parking lot of the Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Company, I told myself maybe this job wasn’t such a good idea.
    But I loved it, so far, and made great money for not having to get up at five and work an eight-hour shift.
    With my insides still knotted, I stormed in the front door.
    â€œHey, chéri ,” Adele called out.
    I waved to her and barreled down the hallway. Before I got to the end, I turned toward Fabio’s door and pounded my fist against it. “How could you, Fabio? How could you tell Jagger about my case? How do you even know Jagger?” I didn’t even let him say anything before I pushed open the door in a huff.
    Fabio leaned across his desk.
    Jagger